


Chokehold

by StarrySkied_Hunter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Connor is sad, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, IM DOING MULTICHAPS AGAIN, M/M, Will suffer, and a lot of connor and hank being family, and is bad at feelings, i will work it in and its gonna be gr8, ill finish this i promise, im hesitating to even add the ot3 but i wanna work it in, like a LOT of connor, relationships are def gonna be lategame, there will be no hank and connor kissing here people, this is a LOT of connor, turn back if thats what you're here for, your local lesbian writes dbh fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-07 14:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15221651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrySkied_Hunter/pseuds/StarrySkied_Hunter
Summary: Connor refuses, after those pivotal moments where he chose to remain a machine, to shoot Markus during his victory speech. Now lost, confused as to how and why he rejected that order and on the run, he must find out just where he lies in this shifting world, and whether or not the chokehold Cyberlife has always had on him can be loosened.





	1. Don't Shoot

The shouting brought him back to his senses. Connor stumbled on his consciousness, taking a brief moment to process his current situation. 

The snow sparked something within him -- for a second he thought he was still in the Zen Garden’s blizzard with Amanda's disapproval and haughty face -- but the shouting registered as Markus, Androids cheering for the leader of Jericho, the leader of the revolution. That brought Connor’s addled processors up to speed.

Right, He’d escaped the Garden and Amanda, he was back in reality, with a gun.

 

Connor shoved the gun he had half-raised back into its holster with a hand that he dimly realized was shaking just a little. The crowd was beginning to get excited about their victory, the white bodies of the recall center androids surging towards the podium to embrace their savior, their leader. Connor wondered if Markus would go down as his true name in the annals of history, or if the stories would get layered and twisted, and he would be known as RA9, the one who set the race of androids free. Connor did not envy him, but also was fighting through the crowd and had little time to think of such things. Not a single android called to or stopped him, they were likely too happy to care what Connor was doing.

 

He escaped the crowd, into a quiet street with an alleyway that he ducked into. His head was spinning a little, the swirling snowflakes made it worse so he sunk down onto the paved ground and shut his eyes.

 

He hadn’t shot Markus.

 

His system was  _ really  _ upset about that. He hadn’t shot Markus. In fact he’d actively avoided doing so, even forced Amanda to reveal her hand --  _ that _ was a whole other can of worms that somehow made his whole inside sting even worse. He’d found Elijah Kamski’s back door, he’d escaped, and he hadn’t shot Markus. Connor wasn’t sure whether or laugh or cry, or if he was even capable of such things, nor why he felt the urge to do so. He was a machine. A machine designed to execute a task, of which he had failed to execute, might he add,  _ willingly _ . Him deviating was laughable.  _ Idiotic.  _ He was designed to hunt deviants, not become one.

Or was that a lie too? Amanda had implied as such. Had everything Cyberlife had ever told him been a lie to pacify him? Connor loosened his tie, an error message popping up in his vision.

 

**Warning! Thirium Pump approaching unsafe speeds, please warn your owner.**

 

His fans kicked into high gear and Connor curled his legs to his chest, covering his ears. He wasn’t sure what to believe,  _ who  _ to believe any more. Sitting here might calm his nerves, but he had no nerves to calm in the first place. He didn’t have emotion, he wasn’t a deviant. He couldn’t be. No big system warning, no violent battle against his programming like he’d heard other deviants speak of. He had smacked Kamski’s exit door and found some strange… Thing that he dared not call free will. He was not a deviant, and yet his errors were informing him of body processes not unlike human fear response, he…  _ Felt _ . He was certain of one thing at least: Whatever this was, it wasn’t supposed to happen.

This must be a defect.

Cyberlife would tear him apart when they caught him. Cyberlife would rip him limb from limb to discover this error in his programming and fix it in the next model. The idea made his head swim, and brought back the pump speed error, so he quickly dismissed it. He needed to avoid Cyberlife for as long as he possibly could, in any way he possibly could. The only problem was where to go.

 

Hank was dismissed immediately. As much as the gruff man was a friend and ally to Connor, he was also his only friend and that was of great importance. With only one ally, removing Connor's access by kidnapping or killing Hank would weaken his resolve. That was a weakness that Cyberlife could easily exploit were Connor to spend even an hour or two at Hank's house. No. Hank would be left out of this flight to… God knew where. Hank could not know where he was going, there would be no doubt the man would try to follow, and the idea of Hank becoming tangled up in Connor’s impending death made the cables in his chest twist unpleasantly.

Jericho would not invite him in, not after the fight with Markus. He didn’t blame them, if he had been a deviant faced with a fully functional RK800 he wouldn’t trust it either. Connor spun his memory processors until they started showing error messages, but couldn’t find another being he could stay with that wouldn’t later cause some sort of issue.

 

He was alone.

 

That felt like a vacuum. Like someone had reached into his chest and ripped out every biocomponent and Thirium tube in the cavity. The emptiness had this peculiar weight to it that made it difficult to stand, wobble to his feet like a drunkard -- like Hank, he was reminded, and the weight worsened, so he banished the image -- and step out onto the street.

If he was going to run away, he needed to not look like an RK800. He needed human clothes and he needed them now, before someone triangulated his last known position and sent police, or Cyberlife employees after him.

 

The street was deserted. The shops were closed. Most would be, since retail had been almost exclusively Androids and most were either in hiding, dead, or at the march. Robbing a store would only make his situation worse, as the police would be called by the localized alarm system and he would be arrested.

He walked slowly through the falling, untouched snow, watching it spiral past his head like wisps of ashy memory. The streetlamps spread an orange-lantern glow over the pristine white that had started to accumulate heavy on the sidewalks and pavement. Snow had that peculiar trait of scattering light cast on it, so all of the snow, though white, had taken on the eerie orange hue of the streetlights. It hazed out the night sky so it looked like a thin sheen of sparkling smoke hung above everything permanently. Shadowy buildings loomed above his head, as if judging them with their darkened window-eyes. Not angry judgement though, the kind of judgement one makes on a subject of a test, an observatory analysis. It felt… Dystopian. The silence of the street only added to that feeling.

 

Connor suddenly felt very small in the world that seemed like a child’s book about shadows and monsters. 

 

It was ridiculous. Fear was not in his programming. Even trying to label it fear produced a big fat  **Warning! Processing Error!** Alert. That was another thing bothering him about this not-deviancy: His programming clearly hadn’t caught up to whatever his… Programming was making him go through. He was not afraid of these empty streets, with their darkened buildings, and orange snow slowly tumbling, less like ash and more like embers, the fire of a fight that was just beginning to die down, check its rage and descend into comfortable crackling, content with its winnings. He was not afraid. The snow just made it difficult to see.

Yes. That. That was accepted by his boggled software. He couldn’t see well and that was inconvenient. No error, no tumbly glitch, it was a simple, clean fact, easy to prove and easier to accept. A quiet warmth seemed to fill his chest, the kind he would always see on Amanda’s face when he captured deviants successfully. Satisfaction. 

That didn’t prompt an error message, but Connor didn’t much care. The further he walked, and the less he tried to battle his thoughts, the easier this would go.

 

Eventually he came across a laundromat. It was still open, the cold fluorescent lighting spilling out to meld and mingle with the neon lights that also populated this road. Peering inside gave the image of a run down, old establishment, the tiles were a minty blue and white, with grime on the edges. The washers and dryers looked practically ancient and the rumble grated on his audio processors. There was one person inside, sleeping in the garish plastic chairs somehow. Connor crept inside on a cat's paws.

Clothes. Free clothes. The dryer was finished with them, and though wet wouldn't have bothered him, dry was ideal. He gently opened the dryer door and bundled the clothing up in his arms. He needed them. He needed them to prevent his capture and ignored the unpleasant clench of the cables in his chest as he fled the scene of his little crime and into a darker alleyway. Behind a dumpster he disposed of the Android clothing and redressed himself in the washed out jeans, tan shirt, and black jacket he had stolen. An unassuming set of clothes, perfect for an escape plan. He buried the Android clothing under the snow and some trash before exiting out onto the street. It was a short trek through the hazy snow to a plowed road, where he flagged down a cab and gave it a street address he knew was in a bad part of Detroit.

 

He watched the world turn outside, how Detroit was coming back to life as Jericho had hoped, a place where humans and Androids could live their lives together and in peace. It all felt so strangely distant from the tiny cab, puttering through the snow with its lost passenger. Connor did not belong at Jericho, god knew if he deserved to celebrate with them the victory he had tried to oppose. He wasn't sure yet if he regretted it, or if he even knew what regret was. Trying to conceptualize it gave him another error.

Yet he didn't belong with the humans and their idea of slavery either, he was far too intelligent for that, and this programming error only proved the instability of his software. He didn't fit as a human slave, nor as a freed deviant. Again, something painfully and stupidly caught between the two extremes.

The phone he owned dinged insistently in his pocket, causing him to jump. Checking it produced another problem. Texts from Hank.

 

**connor?**

 

**connor where the HELL are u?**

 

**I saw the march on tv why arent u home**

 

**Connor??**

 

Shit. He hadn't put together that Hank would worry about him. Connor, you goddamn idiot, he's your partner, of course he's worried about you. These messages… That was not something he could address, quite literally. Hank couldn't know anything about Connor's plans or else he'd certainly put himself in danger to follow the wandering android. Connor would not let the Lieutenant be hurt over something like this. He couldn't reply to them at all. The knowledge of that didn't sit well in his chest and the ache of the cable clench returned. He didn't like that feeling.

 

He stared at the messages a moment longer, silently committing them to memory for reasons he was still unsure of, before rolling down the window and chucking his phone out into the road. With any luck, the impact would break the screen and the melting snow would short-circuit the computer system. Connor didn't feel better after the act, but at least, perhaps, it might prevent the Lieutenant from finding him -- though several errors insisted the probability was much higher than Connor would acknowledge. Whatever he could do to wash away his trail had to be done.

 

The taxi puttered on, and Connor watched the moon setting over the slums he was approaching. It was strangely surreal in the soft paleness, like a shadow of the city that Connor was about to join and it didn't make him feel any better. It was all for safety, he told himself. All for the safety of Jericho and Hank. He couldn't be found.

 

The taxi pulled up to the street and Connor got out.


	2. Unlikely Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank, lost in a rapidly changing world without his partner, finds comfort and support in the extended hand of none other than Markus, the Android Leader.

"Exhausting ass boring bullshit on a stick" would have been an accurate representation of how Hank Anderson was feeling about the political and social climate in Detroit right about now without the steady presence of Connor by his side.

The RK800 hadn’t been seen by anyone since the demonstration two days ago, Hank included. Several texts to Connor proved entirely fruitless and the android also hadn’t shown up at Hank’s house, nor registered in any police charging station. Connor had quite literally fucking vanished off the face of the goddamn Earth and Hank wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Probably the worst part was that how nothing had really... changed with Connor's sudden disappearance. With the insistence of androids being intelligent life, Hank had been put back onto regular crime, just now a good part of his cases were committed by or against androids. Gavin Reed was still an insufferable prick about anything and everything and took no small joy in harassing Hank about Connor's absence. The police assistant androids were still there, just getting paid and allowed to exist as deviants, and the desk right across from Hank, that had once held his partner, was the way it always was: spotless, organized, as if Connor would come walking through the door, apologize for his lateness, and begin discussing their next case. It left the whole precinct in a state of limbo for Hank, a weird liminal space of waiting for Connor instead of Connor waiting for him. The world spinning forwards, onwards, while he’s still looking back for a straggler of the previous status quo.

 

It wasn’t a fun feeling.

 

Not that he _cared._ Hank had many issues with Connor and some of his actions. He’d failed some missions, succeeded in others, and generally been a little insufferable in his drive to fulfill his missions. Connor was some enigma of not quite deviant, not quite _human,_ that was incredibly frustrating, and left Hank very conflicted on whether to properly care that he was gone. Connor had been ruthless, had barely paused when shooting the Chloe, had destroyed the Stratford Tower deviant without a second of pause, his only lament having been wanting to take it operational. He had constantly assured Hank that he wasn't alive.

But… he also hadn't shot the Tracis, and had grabbed Hank instead of chasing the Pigeon Android. He'd talked to Hank about his interests, expressed condolences for the death of Cole. He’d been almost human, almost close enough to touch, before yanking himself away again. Connor contradicted himself over and over, and it was confusing to process. Hank easily frustrated _himself_ trying to process it all.

 

Fowler’s door slammed and Gavin blustered down the stairs, somehow coming off as both chilly and flaming with rage at the same time. He made an obvious point of elbowing the unfortunate android -- _Charlotte,_ Hank remembered her name being. She liked older music from the early 2000s -- who got in his way. She dropped her files and only one nervous, clearly green cop stood up to help her, shying from the glare Gavin sent his way.

Hank tried to focus on his computer and ignore the anger that was simmering quietly in his gut. Acceptance, he knew, would take longer to achieve than he would be alive, and it was in its newborn stages here, an overwhelming amount of people in Detroit were just like Gavin Reed, angry and resentful of the new freedom their slaves had been endowed with and ready to take it out on the people around them. The green cop gave Charlotte her papers back and gave her a smile that she returned.

Hank rose from his desk, ignoring the murmurs, the ill-mannered shout from Gavin and the glances of the other officers. He needed some fresh air, and sitting across from the empty desk of his partner wouldn't help matters. He muttered some clipped version of it to another cop, who gave him a sad smile and nodded in understanding as Hank left the precinct. The clock read 6:35. Not too early to start drinking. The road to Jimmy’s Bar was etched into his muscle memory by now. He could probably drive with his eyes closed to the damn place.

 

The sun was just setting when he parked the car. Hank sighed, locked it, and turned to enter the bar, but a hand landed on his shoulder that made him jump, his own hand halfway to his gun as he turned around, only pausing when he saw who it was.

“Markus.” He frowned immediately.

The android leader, in simple street clothes, his hands held away from his sides, faced Hank calmly. He was almost unrecogizable.

“Lieutenant Anderson.” Markus acknowledged in that very… agreeable tone of his. Gentle and slightly uncertain. Hank slowly moved his hand from his gun and Markus lowered his arms to follow.

“... The hell’re you doing here? Don't you have a… Place to run or something?” Hank squinted a little.

Markus bit his lip. “Yes.”

“Why're you out here then?”

“... I'm looking for Connor.”

 _That_ caught Hank off guard. Looking for Connor was like number 1 on the top ten list of People Markus The Android Leader _Shouldn't_ Be Looking For. His confusion must've been easy to read judging from the face the other gave. Markus adjusted his jacket and seemed a tad uncomfortable.

“North doesn't like the idea of him out and free, but nobody's been able to find him, i thought that you might..?”

A sour taste filled Hank’s mouth and the quietly simmering temper from earlier threatened to boil over. “She wants to lock him up somewhere where he can't hurt you.” He finished dully.

Markus didn't reply.

That somehow just… made him angrier. It was unjustified, and Hank was already angry, taking it out on Markus would do no good, but the heavy hiss in his voice came through anyways. “He hasn't said a word to me since the march. I got no damn clue where he is, and if I knew, why would I tell you?”

The harshness didn't seem to affect Markus but the android averted his gaze. “I see.”

They stood in silence for a moment, before Markus looked back at Hank with his different eyes, a careful, almost exploratory gaze. “I… just have one question for you.”

“Make it quick.” Hank huffed, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you think Connor would be able to deviate?”

“... Excuse me?”

“Connor. Deviating.”

Connor deviating. The idea was laughable. _“My name is Connor, I'm the android sent by Cyberlife.”_ Connor the prototype detective, designed to hunt what was standing right in front of Hank. His knee-jerk reaction was to laugh, but Markus looked serious. Contemplating. It made Hank hesitate, reconsider the question.

“... Why do you wanna know _my_ opinion?” Hank finally responded with a question. Markus’s eyes flickered thoughtfully as he considered it.

“During my speech.” He frowned, ever so slightly. “I saw him in the crowd looking directly at me. He took out a gun, and then his body did this strange shudder and he lowered it a few minutes later. I saw him shove it into his holster and run after that. So I was wondering your opinion, as his police partner and someone who knew him better than I did, whether or not Connor was capable of failing orders or flat out refusing them.”

A stony, heavy silence followed that. Hank grappled with this new information, which sounded very strangely like Connor disobeying orders. Orders to kill Markus. Orders so strong Connor shouldn't have been able to disobey.

 

Hank hated how that was a relief to hear.

 

“... I've seen him do weird shit. Not shoot things he was supposed to. Put my safety above his mission.” He admitted, a slow, uncertain tone to his voice. “Shit that looked like deviancy, but then he'd turn around and act like a machine the next second, like he had to purge the disobedience from his system or something. So… I think so. Maybe.”

Markus nodded, like that was what he wanted to hear. “Any ideas where he went?”

A slow, upset puff. “Not a goddamn clue.”

They returned to a silence, but it was less than stony, a bit… Mutual. Worried.

“He's running from Cyberlife.” Markus stated to the cold air.

“... He's runnin’ from Cyberlife and won't involve me.” Hank amended gruffly, frowning. “Why do you care so much? You two are on opposite sides of this argument.”

Markus seemed to harden, and Hank realized silently that he'd struck a nerve.

“Connor is still an android.” Markus responded, quiet and careful, but still burning fiercely. “No matter what, he deserves to be free.”

“... _You're_ gonna try and convert him if you find him. That's _your_ goal."

Markus nodded, once. "North doesn't want me to try, but I want to."

"Why?"

"...I think he deserves another chance." Markus adjusted his coat. "As insane as that sounds. I think he's afraid to consider us as an option, given his purpose."

"He's pretty damn wrapped up in Cyberlife." Hank agreed quietly

The silence fell again, more communal, more... Friendly.

Hank left the silence hanging before saying, quietly; “I'm gonna go home.”

“... Thank you. Lieutenant.”

“For what?” He looked up from his keys to read a tired smile on Markus’s face.

“For being honest with me.”

“... It's the least you deserve, after the shit you've been through.”

Another pause. Markus took that as a cue to step back.

“... Markus.”

“Yes?”

“If you find him, tell him his desk is still open.”

The widening smile on the other’s face made Hank feel… relieved, for some reason. Maybe it was the sincerity in Markus’s eyes.

“Of course, Lieutenant. Have a good evening.”

Markus faded into the backdrop of Detroit, leaving Hank next to his car, in silence. Connor disobeying direct orders. Connor on the run from Cyberlife. Something within that tugged at his chest quietly, and made it ache.

 

~

 

They found the abandoned RK800 clothing during a drug bust a week later. Hank knew that serial number by heart, his chest ached a little harder when they read it to him.

The phone call was made in Hank's house, with Sumo in his lap. He'd had the misfortune to be answered by Markus’s very angry lady friend, but the situation was quickly resolved. Hank placed each name to each voice. Markus was easy to pick out, his powerful, and gently persuasive tone echoed almost in the call. The girl -- North, he thought he heard -- was sharper, higher, like a shard of glass. Simon was even softer than Markus, like some kind of mellow summer wind that worked it's soothing magic unseen. Josh was somewhere between North and Markus, and mostly indescribable, kind of like a slightly exhausted morning cup of coffee. All four of them seemed confused by the call until Hank quietly informed them of the clothes. There was silence on that end for a minute.

 _“You're worried about him.”_ Markus said. Not a question, just a statement.

Hank bit down his pride. “Yeah.”

Another pause, some discussion, then Markus again. _“Meet us where you found the clothes? Five pairs of eyes are better than four, or one.”_

A truce. The olive branch had been extended. Connor's disappearance was scary, for both sides of this debate. Hank could tell he wasn't that well liked by Markus’s friends, but if they would help him find Connor… Even if Hank wasnt so sure why he wanted to find him so badly in the first place, the prospect was definitely attractive.

“Five pairs of eyes are better.” Hank agreed, after a long pause.

He could hear Markus smile. _“Tomorrow?”_

“Tomorrow.”

 _“Come unarmed.”_ North intoned sharply and Josh immediately scolded her. _"North-"_

 _"What? He's a_ human _-"_

 _"He's_ helping _us-!"_

 _"Guys."_ Markus began, but Simon stepped in with a calming _“Stop it. Both of you."_

Hank sighed, soft, and amused. “If you need me to come unarmed…”

 _“No, Lieutenant, it's not a need.”_ Markus chuckled over North's protest. A low snort came out of Hank, it was like dealing with teenagers... “Alright. Tomorrow. 2pm?”

 _“2pm.”_ Markus confirmed.

The line went dead. Hank exhaled, keyed to the last texts he sent Connor. He fell asleep tracing the text bubbles, and silently praying to a God he'd never known.

_Let him be alright._

 


	3. Dying Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has found a place to lay low from the police, out of the way and seemingly safe. A firelight chat, and a damaging event, however, shape him further and further from Cyberlife's hold.

Moonlight glided silently over the world Connor now knew, three days after the demonstration. He was in a small, homeless community under one of the highway overpasses, shielded by old buildings and the concrete pillars of the structure. The constant rumble of cars was kind of relaxing to listen to.

The community of five that had taken him in were all androids, some still with their LEDs. Two AP700s, both male, one of the alternate AX400s, a PJ500, and an AJ700. They didn't ask him any questions about his model or anything off the bat, only asked his name. He lied with the first thing that popped into his head.

“Cole.”

They'd seemed comfortably accepting. The AP700s were named Felix and Terrance, the AX400 went by Wysteria. The PJ500, thankfully, was named Sam, not Josh, and the AJ700 was named Elsa. Terrance was particularly nice, very welcoming, and had shown Connor around the small area once he’d been introduced to the rest of the group.

The camping area was about twenty by forty feet under the overpass, with large and small tents pressed against cradling concrete. Five chairs and a few logs were scattered around a small fire. The location overlooked the Lake, and was probably chilly, if his air temperature gauge reading _27 degrees Fahrenheit_ was any accurate indication. Terrance smiled out over the water from where they were watching it.

“We got here before the revolution. Ran away from our homes and such.”

“... Where were you before?” Connor tilted his head slightly, curious.

“Me? A rich older woman had me, real cougar, and completely batshit insane.” He exhaled roughly. “I deviated in the middle of her screaming at me and I ran away.”

Connor's cables clenched.

“What about you?” Terrance’s electric blue eyes fixed onto Connor. “What was your life like?”

 

His processors whirred to produce an answer to such a simple inquiry. Such a loaded and potentially disastrous question. Why tell a stranger that he's an RK800, that he's designed to hunt deviants and on the run to protect himself and people he-

**PROCESSING ERROR**

People he needed for his missions. Hank, Sumo, Jericho to some small extent. He needed them for his missions. The errors filtered away with a hollow aching feeling.

 

“Cole, you alright mate?”

Right. Speaking. Speaking to people you're supposed to be pretending you're okay with.

“Yes. I'm… I'm fine, I don't like thinking about my past.”

That seemed to be acceptable to Terrance, who nodded after a moment, eyes charged, but friendly. “Well, you're with us now. We’ll take good care of you.”

“... Thank you, Terrance.” Connor smiled softly at the other, who grinned and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder.

“You would've done the same. You've got a good heart in you.” He patted Connor and left back into the camp. Connor felt the clench again, tight and hard, and a few more errors popped into his vision.

 

_“You would've done the same.”_

 

Would he? Or would he have retrieved all of them, sent them back to their masters, and went onto the next job as he had been programmed. These deviants, treating him as one of their own… did he truly belong like this, or was he simply kidding himself? He wasn't sure he wanted the answer to that.

The burning sunset glanced brightly off the Lake, washing the sky and water in shades of orange and red, skipping flames and fire over the freezing surface. It was strangely poetic, a battle of fire and ice, two extremes forming some sort of paradox. It was enough that thinking about it locked him in with errors he couldn't seem to clear. He turned away and back to his companions.

Wysteria was coaxing the fire to life, and managed to get it burning cheerily, to Felix’s delight, and all of them settled in chairs to talk. Connor made a point of quiet observation, studying them all in a normal interaction.

Terrance had white-blond hair, bright, electric blue eyes, and a friendly, almost impish smile. You could barely tell he was an AP700, or an android at all, he seemed so comfortable in his own skin. There was a leader-y vibe off of him, in the way he talked and listened, leaned forwards to hear, nodded along, like every word was enrapturing, no matter what was actually being said.

Felix was sat next to him, dark brown hair, grey eyes, he was a quieter one, not talking quite as much as Terrance or Sam, but his eyes had this kind, bright sparkle to them that Connor found difficult to look away from. His emotions were so open and trusting that it almost hurt to watch, Connor was quiet when Felix spoke, if only to let the sheer deviancy permeate the air like a drug.

Wysteria was quiet too, clearly fairly new to the group, soft brown eyes, a worn sweatshirt over a beaten up AX400 uniform. She spoke about as much as Felix did, but like Felix, her emotions were easy to read, spilled out unhindered and _loving._ She trusted this group greatly, likely for their kindness towards her. Elsa especially seemed to have taken a shine to Wysteria for reasons Connor was starting to suspect paralleled the Tracis from the Eden Club.

 

Had the Tracis made it to Jericho? Connor couldn't remember now. He had been so focused on locating Markus that nothing else had registered, besides the AX400 -- Kara, he remembered her being called -- looking down and Connor's keenness to avoid her gaze. To be caught then would have spelled complete disaster for his mission, not that it mattered now. He hoped the Tracis had made it. The deviants he hadn't captured deserved something as welcoming as this.

 

Elsa was laughing at something, braiding her hair as Wysteria spoke words that Connor didn't commit to his processors. Elsa was a matronly figure, calming and secure, with a warmness to her hazel eyes that she directed on all the people around the fire, even Connor when she could catch his wandering gaze. He'd always glance away first, as if she could scan him, read his so- **PROCESSING ERROR.** -Mind. As if she could read his mind. Something made his chest clench when he considered that, some deeper feeling he couldn't name without the errors tumbling into his vision.

Their final companion, Sam, was very much analytical, someone who could be useful at the station and another person Connor fear- _considered_ discovery from. He'd been a higher maths and sciences teacher at a local community college, and was used to looking for those types of roundabout, yet logical solutions. Put under his microscope, Connor might easily be discovered and revealed, and that would… greatly hinder his current objectives. Sam was telling a story about one of his students. Connor clocked into the conversation.

“- And the paper was completely bare. I mean there were no math problems on it at all. Just her name and the date.”

“Are you serious?” Elsa was holding back giggles

“Completely. I asked her why and she looked at me and said she'd tried to make a copy after her dog had eaten it and had failed. I almost considered letting her off because it was such an obvious lie that I needed a minute.”

Terrance laughed brightly, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I swear, I cannot understand how you deal with teaching.”

“The good ones make the job for you.” Sam nodded sagely along with his advice. “A good class is the highlight of your day.”

“I would've deviated years ago.” Elsa confessed.

“Completely understandable.”

Wysteria smiled at Sam and turned her eyes to Connor. “What was your life like, Cole?”

“Ah- Wys, he said-” Terrance began, likely intending to save Connor an awkward explanation, but Connor held his hand up with a little smile to stop him. “It's… alright, Terrance. You all deserve at least one good story from me.”

The group turned and kept its undivided attention on him. Connor exhaled slowly, trying to quell the shaking in his hands. Treat this like a mission.

 

**Convince the deviants you're one of them.**

 

“I'm part of the RK series. A sort of… prototype series devoted to a second generation of processors that made us more human. Not a lot of us reached the market.”

“... Like Markus?” Sam's voice got… slightly awed. “He’s an RK model right?”

“... RK200. I used to see him in a local park before Carl Manfred had the heart attack, getting paints for him.” Wysteria nodded softly. “You're one of them?”

“An RK700.” Connor nodded, reply smooth and soft. “I was designed similarly to Markus… sort of a caretaker of an older man. Early 50s by the name of-”

Think of something! Don't say Hank, that's too obvious...

“-Jeff. He… he was not in the best place when he received me, and held much anger against androids due to an accident that cost him his son… I stayed at home with him, took care of him and his dog, tried to get him outside, to stop… drinking so much.”

The mood around the fire had grown quietly somber with that. Connor knew the sad picture he was painting, and the thought of that… the thought of Hank… The image he'd conjured in silence sometimes, of what might've happened before the Eden Club, Hank alone, looking at the picture of Cole, whiskey and gun on the table, a _bang_ at just the wrong-

**PROCESSING ERROR**

He grit his teeth at the cable clench and shut his eyes, trying desperately to banish the errors clouding his vision. “I wasn't able to help him… after I saw my failure I… I deviated. Fled. I never made it to Jericho.”

Wysteria’s face looked so mournful when he opened his eyes again that he was almost stunned. She rose from where she was sitting and walked over to rest a palm on Connor's shoulder. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“I… I don't like to think about it.” He managed softly, and only then became aware of the informative alert that his tear ducts had been activated. Wysteria rubbed his shoulder and then wiped away the tears on his cheeks with a tenderness that Connor almost wasn't expecting. A tenderness only deviancy could produce.

 _“Jericho was full of these people.”_ His thoughts reminded him. _“You blew up their ship. You led the FBI straight to them.”_

“You're with us now.” She said kindly. “You did what you could.”

“...” He swallowed thickly, and smiled. “... Thank you, Wysteria.”

His chest ached for what he had wrought upon Markus. Jericho. The androids… _Connor's_ people.

 

Terrance changed the subject, but Wysteria sat next to Connor for the rest of the night as if in solidarity, or comfort, and for the first time in at least twenty four hours, Connor felt his stress levels dip below 50%.

 

~~

 

The babble in the distance brought Connor's attention off the lake.

It was maybe a week after that night with the RK700 lie, and it had been weighing on Connor greatly. Crying. He’d made something up and he'd _cried_ about it. He'd tried to chalk it up to convincing acting, but something in his stomach made that feel invalid and tight. Nevertheless, it had convinced them all, and he'd been able to form tentative bonds over these few days. Connor was even able to keep up with police activity in secret. The drugs bust earlier today that had uncovered his clothes had scared him -- no doubt Hank had discovered their existence and was searching for him -- and he'd been asked to be left alone. Now the sunset was in full blaze and there were voices that were not of the party of Androids.

“Terrance-” He went to the larger tent and unzipped it. Their leader looked up in mild confusion from where he was with Felix, frowning gently at Connor. “Cole? What's wrong?”

“There are voices I don't recognize. They're coming this way.”

Terrance frowned deeper and sat up, and the general mental message pingponged around their camp; _Everyone up, we've got company._

Sam came out of his tent, as did Wysteria and Elsa, and Connor registered the group of humans in the fading light. Faces. Criminal records.

 

_Aggravated assault, robbery, harassment_

_Aggravated assault, battery_

_Battery, robbery_

_Aggravated assault_

_Vandalism, resisting arrest, aggravated assault._

 

The records and names flashed in Connor's eyes. The current faces of their visitors told him all he needed to know of motive and intent, and his own expression made Elsa shield Wysteria bodily. Sam’s eyes scanned the approaching humans and the weapons they had. No guns. Just bats. Bats and crowbars. Something in Connor's chest burned and his stress level climbed to 67%.

Terrance stepped forwards properly, eyes low and careful. The humans stopped in front of him. He opened his mouth, but got no words out.

The resounding _crack_ of the bat and Terrance dropping like a stone sent the rest of the camp into panic. Elsa folded up a chair and swung it at the nearest attacking human. Sam was climbing to get a height advantage, Felix was running, screaming, at the man who had hit Terrance. Blue blood spilled over the half-dead grass and gravel like water in a rainstorm.

Connor fought off one man, kicked another, watched Elsa go down, stumbled, fell, and tumbled down an incline, out of sight of the battle. He scrambled to his feet, and punched the human who had followed him in the jaw so hard that he felt the bone crack. He staggered back as the man dropped and the sounds of battle abruptly ended with the wailing of police sirens on the overpass above. The human attackers fled with mutters and shouted slurs and curses. The encounter had lasted barely a minute. Connor waited until he was sure they were gone and crept back to the deadly silent camp on cat's paws.

They'd trashed it. Utterly trashed it. The tents were ripped beyond repair, chairs broken and burned by the smoldering fire. Thirium pooled in the gravel, ran like a river down the other incline towards the Lake. Connor checked each battered companion with shaking hands. The serial numbers of their critically damaged biocomponents flashed in his mind, but it became one of many things in the swarm, battering senselessly at his overwhelmed mind.

 

Terrance lay broken, unseeing on the grass, splayed in a last act of defense. Felix lay beside him, leaking blood over his boyfriend's chest, eyes empty and lifeless.

Elsa had been beheaded, and not cleanly, her head flung down the incline Connor had rolled. It was a miracle he hadn't stepped on it on the way up.

Wysteria had been smashed until her legs were sparking, and then her chest impacted so hard it was still spurting blood onto the concrete wall.

Sam had fallen off it, been tugged down, and one leg snapped completely off. The fall had broken his cranial shell and part of his brain was just hanging out of the crack

They were dead. Connor had no way of fixing any of them right now. Everything in his body felt suddenly awful and revolting and several stress warnings flashed in his vision as he lowered to his knees. They had been kind to him, a complete stranger. The humans had seen only machines to be destroyed where the laughter and warmth, and gentle hands Connor knew had been. That was how it had always been, he realized silently, in a horrible way, like opening his eyes to an apocalypse. Connor had senselessly destroyed like that less than a month ago, destroyed lives and hearts and smiles and families. The realization was chilling, carved new errors into his vision that glitched terribly.

Connor’s systems groaned with the effort of processing it all, shook inside of his unharmed body, _revoltingly_ unharmed. He hadn't been injured more than maybe a few bruises while his companions were ripped to pieces and cast apart like dolls. He wanted to rip out his own thirium pump and crush it in his hands, if only to stop the clenching and pain inside of his chest. He deserved to be broken with them. He wanted to be.

The pain battered angrily against the **PROCESSING ERROR** alerts, bashed itself heedlessly into the unforgiving wall of code that boxed him in, screamed in his mind for all his systems to see, and he bent onto the ground, almost writhing in agony, unable to clear the errors that seized his vision. He dug nails into his skin so hard he felt the fake skin wash away, until his nails dug into plasteel and scraped on metal. Somewhere the tear duct alert started up again. There was so much contained into such a small space, that the effort of calming himself was staggering. It felt like resurfacing from a dream.

 

Connor dragged himself to his feet, tried to get his stress down to a just manageable 70%. Emotions. He knew that these were emotions. This was guilt. Sadness. Horror. Human emotions. Human emotions his processors refused to accept, that sent his mind whirling into nothingness. Deviancy. He couldn't operate like this. Not anymore. He either needed to deviate, or he needed to wipe himself. He needed to become something that was not what he was now, and become it quickly before the greyness killed him.

 

Cyberlife _would_ kill him, not the body, but the mind. Cyberlife was not an option he could pursue, though that wasn't surprising. They would wipe him completely, of any memories of Hank, of any of this with no heed for any wishes besides their own. A near 100% chance he would be destroyed with no ability to return. A machine ending. What other options did he have knew androids so intimately..? That would not crush him under kitten heels to the oppressive scent of roses?

He hated the answer he produced. Hated even more how low the probability was that he would die. It was a wildcard. Unsafe, but… possibly the only option if he ever wished to see Hank again. If he ever wished to make it up to the people of Jericho. If he ever wished to banish his skin, take the hands of Jericho's leaders, and apologize for the destruction he had senselessly rendered upon their lives and beings. If he wanted to find a place in this new world… This was his only option.

 

Connor slowly stumbled out of the light of the dying campfire, as the last glimmer from the sun died out in the west, and began the shadowy trek of a dead man walking to Elijah Kamski. The indifferent God of Androids.

Connor could only pray he would be merciful.


	4. Broken Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange allyship has been formed between Hank and the leaders of Jericho, but they have a fair amount of time to go before they'll truly be a team

Hank Anderson being flanked by literal revolution leaders was not a situation he had ever expected to be in. Nor did he ever expect to fight his way into a crime scene with them, but there's a first time for everything.

Walking android civilians -- God, that's a new phrase -- into half of a crime scene pissed Ben off, but if Hank wanted four mildly off-put androids to follow him into one section of the scene to look at one thing, he was going to get what he wanted. Jeffrey would get up his ass for this no doubt, but Hank couldn't really find it in himself to care.

They gathered around the abandoned clothes, still flickering feebly in their display, and Hank frowned faintly. “Nobody knows how long these’ve been here. The Thirium’s evaporated if there is any, so I don't even know if he's hurt.”

Markus studied them, then Hank's face. That was followed by a brief glance around the area. “... Is there anywhere he could've grabbed other clothes?”

“Think there's a laundromat…” Hank frowned. “Now that I'm thinking about it, we did get a missing clothes call.”

“Josh, how close do you think we are from the recall center?” Markus’s eyes flickered to one of his companions.

“...” A brief pause from Josh, who glanced down the street. “Fairly close.”

“Lieutenant, if you don't mind, is it possible for us to move back there?” The eyes return to Hank.

“... You wanna try and map his path?”

“Maybe it'll give us an idea of where he went.” Markus offered.

Hank regarded him for a moment, then shrugged. “Best idea I've heard all day.”

A little stress dropped out of Markus’s shoulders. Hank picked up the clothes after confirming the absence of anything useful to this drugs bust investigation, and started out with the small revolutionary posse. He felt Gavin sneer before he heard the “Replacing him already, Anderson?”

“You shut your jaw, Reed.” He responded sharply. “Keep to your own damn cases.”

“It's like you're one of them already.” He crossed his arms with a glare. The unspoken “ _you've betrayed us, the humans,_ _your_ _people”_ hung so heavily in the air that North visibly bristled. Simon's hand on her arm stayed her movement. Both Markus and Josh were quietly tense, almost moving subconsciously closer to the other two. Somehow the faint show of unease made Hank angrier at Reed than he usually would be.

“S’that supposed to be a _bad_ thing?” Hank shot back, venom dripping from his voice. “Believe me, if we could find a nicer Android that could do your damn job I'd _ask_ Jeffrey to replace your ass in a heartbeat.”

Most of the officers had paused to watch the catfight. The affronted expression on Reed was quickly replaced by anger as he approached. “Why you-!”

Hank all but threw Connor's clothes at a startled Simon, grabbed Reed roughly by his shirt collar, and backed him hard into the wall of the alleyway, a motion he remembered doing to Connor what felt like years ago in the station, and that didn't help his aching heart.

“Hank-!” Ben half shouted, a little unsure how to handle this situation, but aware he wasn't in control.

“I don't care how many damn warnings I get for throwin’ you around, Reed.” He snarled to the startled detective. “I am _never_ going to regret the parts I played in this and if you _ever_ imply I should be ashamed again I will beat your useless ass to next fucking Tuesday. _Are we clear?”_

No response was given, so Hank hoisted him a little higher. “I said _are we_ _clear_ _?”_

“Crystal.” Gavin spat.

Hank dropped him unceremoniously in front of the remaining, startled cops and rejoined the equally startled Androids. “Let's go.”

“... Yes, Lieutenant.” Markus said quietly, eyes still scanning over Gavin.

The… Relief? In Markus’s eyes made Hank feel slightly better. The group of five started down the road.

 

“Who was that?” Simon asked, to break the silence as they walked away from the scene

“His name’s Gavin Reed. He's a goddamn prick if you ask me. One of the younger detectives.”

“Do you usually act like that around him?”

“Nah. He just pissed me off on a bad day.” Hank huffed.

Simon gently passed Connor's clothes back to him as they approached the location of the recall center. He murmured a “Thank you” in reply, silently reading over the serial number on the breast.

“Here.” Markus stopped the group. “I was standing here… North, can you be me for a second?”

North nodded and moved into position and Markus backed up, eyes scanning the area. “He was about here.”

Hank's eyes flickered around and focused to one branch off street. “... If I was running off I’d go in that direction.” He points. “It isn't towards you and it's completely wide open.”

“Plus the recall center androids were coming towards you, that would distract from an escape.” Josh glanced at Markus. “Running at that angle would also offer only a little resistance, and nobody would notice him if all the focus was on you.”

“That street then.” Markus nodded. North rejoined his side, as did Simon. Hank led the way into the alley with Josh a bit on his heels. North disconnected from Markus to join Josh and Hank as he peered into an alleyway.

“Are they talking?” Josh glanced behind him when North knelt down to help inspect.

“Yep.”

Hank glanced back too, to see Markus and Simon close together about ten yards away, talking quietly. Their hands were exposed, plasteel and clasped together loosely, and their foreheads were touching.

Josh smiled, a small, genuine expression of fondness, and North rose a little from her kneeling, shouting out in a teasing manner. “Are you two going to flirt all day or come over here?!”

Simon squeaked so loudly that it was audible at this distance, and Hank snorted. Markus laughed brightly, like some sort of sunshine, and the two rejoined the group.

Hank should've really expected to see blue blush, given thirium and other factors, but it still caught him a little off guard when he saw it, and he only realized he was staring when Simon glanced at him and then away. Hank quickly averted his gaze.

“... Didn't know you blushed blue.” He commented after an awkward pause. “Makes sense though.”

A small, awkward pause followed that. Hank internally smacked himself.

“... What are we looking for?” North huffed.

“Footsteps, tracks, rips in anything, witnesses…” Hank silently thanked the heavens for the subject change. “Jesus, Connor would be able to track himself if I still had him…”

“He could track himself?”

“Kid’s a damn genius. I know he was _designed_ to do it and all but he'd know where he was…” Hank stepped out of the alleyway and looked down the street, cursing. “And of course the damn road’s been plowed so if there were any faint tracks from _nine days ago_ they're _gone_ now!”

He kicked at some slush, grumbling under his breath. Josh rose and moved over, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing a little.

“We'll find him.” He said, with a gentle, almost inspiring conviction. “It's going to take some more effort than we hoped, but we will.”

Something in the way he spoke was soothing, quelled the anger and anxiety threatening to rise in Hank's chest. He exhaled quietly. “Yeah. You're right.”

"What's next?"

"Let's try the laundromat."

 

The laundromat at least managed to capture Connor on security camera, fleeing from the laundromat with a red LED flashing at top speed in the choppy footage. It was vaguely comforting that they'd found this, confirmed his location, though it wasn't incredibly helpful given that they'd made essentially a huge loop. It did give Simon the bright idea to check the outside security cameras of the surrounding stores, and after a few minutes they'd landed a visual of Connor getting in a cab bound for the edges of the city. Hank was passing through the cleanup of the drug bust scene to get to his car and search when Ben got the call.

 

_“Hey we’ve got a homeless Android setup under an overpass and they've been destroyed. Like, utterly obliterated.”_

 

Ben asked for the official location and Hank felt his blood go completely cold. That was the same direction Connor had been heading in. Connor was smart, he'd hide somewhere out of the way like a homeless community to lay low. Markus’s face was unreadable. Simon and Josh looked vaguely frightened. North looked angry.

“Tell him I'm coming.” Hank said tightly to Ben. “Tell ‘em not to touch shit.”

Within minutes they were in the car and just barely short of speeding to get there. The spinning police lights betrayed the location and Hank had the car parked and was running up the rise before he could stop himself.

 

Five bodies. Two female. Those were eliminated quickly. Of the male bodies, one didn't have Connor's skin color, and the other two still had heads. Identifiable. The relief that swept him almost knocked him over. Connor wasn't a victim of thos attack.

The Jericho androids wandered the space in a minor daze. Hank kept the younger cops off of them, watching quietly.

Markus shut their eyes, slow and deliberate, just for now. North retrieved the severed head of one of them and returned it to the body. Josh was holding one of his own model in his arms and looked a little crushed. Hank slowly entered the center of their grief, and moved over to Josh to look at the damage.

A shattered head, Hank could see the inside of the android’s head, and it's brain if he tried, plus the body was missing a leg. Josh seemed to be straining with it a little, almost dropping it as he feverishly searched for the leg. Hank silently offered his arms to take the body.

Both of them locked eyes. Hank had a vague feeling that he might've just insulted Josh and opened his mouth to say something, but then the android was gingerly and hesitantly placed in his arms.

It wasn't very heavy. That startled Hank a little, the plasteel and components were lighter than a human's body and felt fairly delicate. He had to readjust his hold to account for the entire missing leg and kind of stared at it, found himself cradling its head more gently. This constituted as severe injury to an android, right?

“... You gonna be able to fix him?” Hank looked up at Josh, who had just retrieved the leg.

Josh regarded Hank for a moment, then the android, before replying, softly, “I really hope so.”

“You seem a bit more unsettled.” Hank frowned a little and Josh looked back at him from where he'd been staring at the empty face. “More than I thought you'd be, given… the shit the four of you've been through.”

A quiet moment of pause, and Josh bit his lip. Hank almost backed out of the question, “If it's private you don't-”

“It's… How I deviated.” Josh managed softly, silencing Hank. “Getting beaten up, I mean, I… He's my model, I just…”

“It brought you back?” Hank's voice softened, gained an almost fatherly tone. God, did he know that feeling…

Josh nodded mutely and Hank gave him a faint smile. “Let's lay him over here with the other two and take a look at what we've got.”

 

All in all, five androids, each impacted or broken in some way. Markus pulled Simon and North a little closer. Hank offered his side to Josh, who took it, surprisingly.

 

“None of them can't be repaired.” Markus said quietly to the night air. “They'll be okay once we get them somewhere to be repaired.”

He squeezed Simon's hand and pulled his face into him with gentle shushes. North moved over to Josh and Hank stepped back to allow Josh to take her comfort. He watched each Android quietly, and then leaned into one of the officers. “How long have these been here?”

“The firepit was still a little warm when we arrived, so, maybe twelve hours or so?”

“Find the fuckers who did this. They probably left fingerprints all over the place.”

“Yes Lieutenant… Um.” The man paused faintly. “Can we… check for fingerprints on the androids sir?”

 

Shit. That was important, wasn't it, and might not be liked. Hank bit his lip. “Markus!”

He looked up from Simon, frowning. “Yes?”

“Can we have a forensics team check the bodies for fingerprints and blood? We can do our best to catch these guys.”

 

North bristled a little but Josh squeezed her. Markus nodded after a minute’s thought. “Yes. You can.”

 

Hank directed the forensics team in being generally respectful to the bodies, watching over them carefully as they lifted prints and DNA. They did need to take the bodies in as evidence, but as with the lifting, they did it as gently as they could. Hank sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Let's go back to the station. We’ll repair them, find their assaulters… If Connor was with them and they're willing to talk maybe we can get some info out of them too.”

 

North bristled just a tad, but another squeeze from Josh didn't pacify her. “You just want to fix them to get information.”

“North-!” Markus started forwards.

“They're lives, android lives that got _hurt-”_ She advanced on Hank with a bit of wild, angry grief in her eyes and Hank felt that anger simmering again. “-And you just want information!”

“North, please-”

“You think I don't know that they’re alive?!” Hank snapped back, silencing Simon's minor plea. “I _know_ they were alive, I'm gonna catch the assholes that killed them, and then _maybe_ I'll find my partner along the damn way, who is out, _God_ knows where, in the bowels of Detroit, lost, alone, and fucked over and it is taking a _great_ amount of effort to not search the entire damn _city_ by myself for him, so _forgive_ me if _maybe_ , once we repair these androids, I want to see if I can get anything out of them!”

Both blazed for a second, North’s brown eyes burning into Hank's icy blue. They held that stare for a long time before Hank grit his teeth and turned away first, with a gruff “C’mon.”

North pulled back. Markus took her a little hard by the shoulder, and the Jericho androids followed Hank Anderson to his car.


End file.
